If
by yesimadramaqueen
Summary: Campbell comes back into their lives and brings more than tension with him. AU after season 2, my own spin on a popular fic topic..
1. Chapter 1

**Title:**** If**

**Timeline:**** AU- sometime after the end of Season 2**

**Summary:**** Campbell comes back into their lives and brings more than tension with him.**

**Ships: ****Michael/Fiona; Campbell/Fiona**

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

**Chapter 1-** **Two life-shattering words**

Clang. Clash. Crash.

"Where is it?" he muttered as he dug through his toolbox. "It was right there!"

Screwdrivers, clippers, a hammer or two, a wrench, three boxes of nails, a stud finder, zip ties, a box of bullets, a few cans of gunpowder…but no pliers. Bugs and GPS trackers didn't make themselves. How was he supposed to finish them by the meet?

The door to the loft flew open, carrying a bright beam of sunlight through the small crack. It vanished as it slammed shut. He looked up from the workbench to find a very unhappy Fi walking towards him.

"Fi. Hi. I was just finishing the bug and tracker. You wouldn't happen to know where I put my pliers, would you?"

The look she sent him was poisonous enough to have killed someone. "Why do you always ask me where things are? I don't live here, Michael. You live here. I'm not your housekeeper!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"I don't know where your pliers are! Why would I know where your pliers are? Sam would have a better chance of knowing where your damn pliers are!"

He frowned. "I said sorry…"

She huffed and briskly wandered over to the bed. He tried to ignore the scowl on her face, but it didn't take long to wear him down.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh no. Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all. Everything is just great," she snapped venomously.

He set the tube of industrial strength glue aside and leaned on the bench with both palms. "What's bothering you? Don't lie."

"Why not? Spies aren't the only people in the world that should be allowed to lie. Or maybe that's just men and being a spy nothing to do with it."

"Fi…"

He didn't have to say anything else. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his. "I'm pregnant."

He froze. Everything around him stopped. Surely she didn't say what he thought she said. She gave him a moment to absorb the two, life-shattering words. _I'm pregnant._

After another minute or so, his brain decided to let him rejoin the real world.

"You're pregnant?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"How sure?"

"Positive."

"How positive?"

"I took the test ten times, Michael. I'm positive."

Thoughts started racing through his mind like bullets in a shootout. Fi—his Fi—was going to have a baby. He was going to be a father. He wanted to smile and scream at the same time. His dad wasn't pop of the year and he didn't want to be like that. He wanted to be there for his kid. Not in the loft. The loft wasn't a safe environment for a child. They'd have to find a new place. Fi's condo wasn't too bad. What about work? Obviously getting off the blacklist was no longer an option. Funny how that didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. He'd have to find a new job, a safer one. Helping people made some money, but not enough to support a family. Family. He'd never really had one. But now he would. There's no one else he'd rather have one with. Fi was more like family than anyone else ever was. Speaking of Fi…

"Michael?" from the tone of her voice, it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get his attention.

"Yeah?"

"That's not all I have to say."

There was more? What else could there possibly be? She didn't want to give the baby up, did she? No. She wouldn't. That wasn't her style. She loved kids. But she loved explosives too. Maybe she was worried about the life they could offer a child. There was no way he'd give up their baby. Besides, if he or she took after even half of one of them, no one else could handle the hell they'd raise. He could picture it. A two year old boy with her eyes and his smile trying to blow up the sofa…

"I figured that the time of conception is between the night we were together and the job we worked right after Victor tried to blow you up," she tried to explain, although it didn't get through. The blank expression on his face said it all, so she continued, "I was still dating Campbell then."

He grimaced at the mention of his name. _Campbell_. The man was named after chicken noodle soup. What did he have to do with anything? Oh wait…

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't know if the last time I was with Campbell or the last time I was with you got me pregnant."

Just like that, everything he'd been thinking about, the sense of happiness that had been dormant for so long, was gone. The two year old would have her eyes and Campbell's dorky grin and instead of blowing up the sofa, he'd be riding around in Campbell's ambulance playing with stethoscopes and dreaming of growing up to be just like his dad…_Campbell_. His Fi would be Campbell's Fi and Fi's baby would be Campbell's baby when it should be his.

"Michael? Did you hear me?"

He nodded stiffly. "Yeah, Fi. I heard you."

"Obviously, I'm keeping the baby. DNA tests are available while you're still pregnant. There is some risk, but I think that we need to know. I'm about eight weeks along. The test is done at around twenty weeks. Until then we'll just have to wait and see."

"You seem…together…"

She scoffed. "I'm far from together. I'm not exactly ready to become a mother. That isn't to say that I'm not happy about it. It just complicates things. A lot will have to change and not knowing who it's going to change with is making it even worse. I decided to tell you first, since we have so much history. I have to call Campbell soon. That'll be interesting…"

He folded his arms defensively. The question he was about to ask wasn't one he wanted to. Not unless he was ready to deflect any emotion it caused. "What are you going to do when you find out whose it is? What if it's Campbell's? What if it's mine?"

"I don't want to talk about that now. I've had a strange day. We have twelve weeks to figure out what to do before we know for sure. I'd rather wait until the shock has worn off. I still have Campbell to talk to, not to mention Sam and your mother."

Great. She was going to tell Madeline. That would go over well. If it wasn't his, she'd be crushed. If it was, she wouldn't leave them alone ever again. What great options.

"My mother? Really?"

"She has a right to know. This could be her grandchild," she returned as she placed a tender hand on her still-flat stomach. "Michael…" she muttered softly.

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking? I can never tell."

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "It's a lot to take in, Fi."

"It is. I should be going. I have that call to make."

She got up and moved towards the door. She opened it and paused, gazing back at him for a brief moment. They both thought that they saw a shadow of tears in the other one's eyes, and they were both right.

"Take care of yourself," he told her seriously. The last thing he wanted was for the baby to be lost.

She nodded and picked up a pair of pliers from a makeshift table by the door. "You needed pliers, right?"

"Yeah. I'll get them in minute."

She set them down and walked out of the loft. The door shut with a muted bang and he slumped against the fridge. One minute he was worrying about pliers and the next he was worrying about parenthood and paternity. Only Fiona Glenanne could turn his life upside down with two words and still make him miss her the second she left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2-**** I got that, Sam**

Night arrived faster than he thought it would. He finished the gizmos for the job and thanked every God in five different languages for Sam Axe. Sam was the one that had to go on the meet. The plan was simple. Sam went on the meet, Michael stayed in the loft and monitored from there, and Fiona kept watch over the client.

The door flew open again with force only someone like Sam could be responsible for. Sure enough, it was him and he slammed it behind him with an awed expression on his face. "Mikey! I talked to Fi today! She said that she spoke with you?"

"Yeah."

"She's having a baby."

"I got that, Sam."

"And she doesn't know who the father is."

"I got that too. Can we not talk about this right now?"

Sam frowned and took the bug and tracker from him pointedly. He started to put them on, but didn't listen to Michael's request. "What are you going to do about it? I mean having a kid is pretty heavy stuff! We live a dangerous lifestyle, my friend, and raising a baby while taking on drug cartels and criminals isn't safe or easy. Can you say _leverage_? You and Fi have more enemies than the whole of the Middle East! Finding out that you two had a kid would be like Christmas for them!"

"I know. You don't have to say it."

"Fi is really having the baby?"

"Yeah she is."

"What are you going to do if it is yours?"

He let out a slow breath. He knew what he wanted to do, but Sam had a point. Their lives weren't safe. Their jobs and pasts would get in the way. Besides, there was a reason things with Fi didn't work before. Not once, but twice. He knew firsthand how the relationship of the parents could mess up the child.

"I don't know," he finally admitted.

"Would you still try to get back in?"

"I don't know that either."

Sam gave him a sympathetic clap on the shoulder. "It'll work out. I know it will."

"Did Fi say how the conversation with Campbell went?"

"Oh, so she didn't tell you…"

He grimaced. "Tell me what?"

"She moved the client to your mom's house tonight because she couldn't watch her. She's meeting with him for dinner to talk about things."

His grimace turned into a scowl. "Dinner?"

"Yeah. Sorry Mike. I know you didn't like the guy."

That was the understatement of the year. It wasn't that Campbell was a bad guy. He was……_nice_. If he made Fi happy, then he was okay with Michael. That didn't mean that he liked him. Or would ever like him. Something about the guy was off. He was too happy. He was always happy. And smiling. And perfect.

"In times like these, you just have to look on the bright side…" Sam added cheerfully as he raided the fridge for a beer.

"Fiona is pregnant, which puts her in danger in the field and keeps her away from explosions, guns, and other things she considers fun. Pregnant women are cranky, a pregnant Fi will be ten times crankier which will lead to at least one injury for us both. Campbell will be hanging around for at least the next twelve weeks and forever if the baby is his. That also puts him in danger and makes life more interesting. My mom will find out and that will make life even more interesting. I'm having trouble finding a bright side."

"There's a fifty-fifty chance that you and Fi will be having a little bundle of joy. Or mayhem since it would be your kid."

A small smile appeared on his face. There was that, and that was enough. "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime, brother. I have a meeting with a very sleazy sleaze-ball. I'll talk to you later."

He waved with his beer and left Michael alone in the loft. With a sigh, he climbed the steps and turned the receivers on. He had just settled into the couch, ready for a night of quiet reflection and bug monitoring, when his cell phone rang. Dread pooled in his gut, but dodging the call would only make it worse.

"Hi Mom."

"Michael! Fiona just called me and told me the news!"

"That's great," he gritted through the forced smile that appeared anytime he spoke to his mother.

"Aren't you excited? You're going to be a father!"

"Didn't she explain to you that I might not be the father?"

"Yeah, but I know that you are!"

"How can you know?"

"Because you love each other!"

"That has nothing to do with paternity."

"Well your father had fertile—"

"Please don't say that."

"Fine, but it's true. I know that your life is complicated and there's no way your mother could actually understand it, but I want to know what you're planning on doing if her baby is yours."

"She didn't want to talk about it yet."

"I'm not asking her, Michael. I'm asking you."

"I'm not sure. We'll figure that out later."

"You don't sound happy."

"I'm just a little overloaded with information right now."

"You aren't going to let her get away again, are you? I know that you have this big, secret job and it gets in the way of a lot of things. Don't let it get in the way of this. Not if you love her."

"Thanks for your input, Mom. I have to go now. I'll talk to you later."

"Alright. Take care of Fiona for me. I don't want anything bad to happen to her and the baby on the way."

"I will."

He ended the call and sank as far into the sofa as he possibly could. He would take care of her no matter what. The static-filled conversation hissed through the bug receiver. He compartmentalized like he was trained to do, but the moment he could, he shut it off and returned to the fears weighing heavily on his mind.

He wasn't sure which was more terrifying. The thought of being a dad or the thought of losing the one thing he dreamed of having to someone else. There were nights in Ireland he'd wonder what it would be like to settle down with her. Then he realized that he wasn't Michael McBride. He could never be. They could never have that life. He hated to admit it. However, he had to. If he couldn't give Fiona the things she deserved to have, maybe it was best to let go.

As far as husbands go, a paramedic would be better than a burned spy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3-**** Appointments **

"How did the meeting go last night?" Fi asked the second she walked into the loft the following morning.

"We have everything we need to finish the setup," Michael responded through mouthful of yogurt. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

She sat down on bed with ease, sighing disappointedly. She knew that she'd soon have a baby bump and moving around wouldn't be as easy as it used to be. The idea of having to quit working made her cringe. She wanted to stay in the field as long as possible.

He could almost sense that was what she was thinking. He wanted her safe and in the clear as soon as possible, no matter how cranky it made her. "I think that after this job, you should focus more on the prep work than being in the field just so we can keep you clear of some of the more dangerous situations."

"I don't need protecting, Michael."

"I know. It's only a precaution."

"I'll go crazy if I have to sit around all day while you and Sam get to have all the fun."

"It's the safest option for the baby."

She huffed. "Fine. I'll stay back."

"Thank you," he paused and added nonchalantly, "So how did your dinner with Campbell go?" She didn't seem surprised that he knew about it.

"It was nice."

"Are you back together?" he asked slowly, fearing the answer more than he cared to acknowledge.

"We aren't going to think about it until we know if he's the father, although he did say that he's missed me. For now, he's just going to stay in touch and go to all of the doctor appointments with me. Speaking of appointments, I have one in a few days. I thought you should know in case you might want to go…"

"Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good. I'll go check on our client."

She was halfway to the door when his voice stopped her. "We can't avoid talking about this forever, Fi."

A mirthless chuckle escaped her lips, leaving him to wonder, "What's so funny?"

"I just find it ironic that you want to talk about it. You never want to talk about anything."

"This is different."

"You'll have to explain that to me when we get around to it."

"When will we?"

"Soon. I'm tired, Michael. I'm still trying to figure some things out. I have to do this on my own. When I'm ready, we'll talk."

She gave him the ghost of a smile, attempting to reassure him just as much as she was trying to reassure herself that it was okay. He watched her go—he always watched her go—and let his shoulders slouch with the weight of their predicament.

Four pep talks courteously of Sam, more than five painful phone calls with his mother, and at least seven uncomfortable moments with Fiona later, it was finally time for her appointment.

He hated hospitals. They were too big, exits were hard to get to without running into an old guy in a wheelchair or a sick kid, security was questionable, and there were too many opportunities for people to not be who they said they were. The doctor taking care of you could really be the Russian you tried to kill thirteen years ago trying to get his revenge with a syringe. The only thing he hated worse than hospitals in general was the OB/GYN ward.

When his mom was pregnant with Nate, he had to go with her to the appointments. There wasn't a lot he remembered about it, except that it smelled weird and there were all sorts of gross pictures and models on the walls. He hadn't been back to one in a long time, the last being strictly job related. Long story, involving the dark side of clandestine liaisons.

The room was filled with women. Some were noticeably pregnant, others just seemed to be there for the fashion magazines. They stared at him like he'd just invaded their secret clubhouse. He was trained to blend into any backdrop, but being the only guy there didn't exactly make that easy.

Fiona wasn't there yet and neither was Campbell. So, he wandered over to one of the only empty chairs and waited. The woman next to him gave him a not-so-discreet onceover. He smiled at her as uncomfortably as he felt. She smiled back.

"You must be here with your wife. Is she pregnant or are you trying to get pregnant?"

"I'm not here with my wife," he began only to be cut off by the woman's screechy voice.

"Oh…so are you here to look into…you know…a…sex change?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

He started to wonder that himself when Fi arrived with Campbell. He hadn't changed a bit, and entered with a cheerful wave in Michael's direction. He reluctantly waved back and wandered towards them.

"Hey Mike," Campbell greeted with a hearty handshake.

"Hi Campbell. Long time no see."

"You boys get to stay out here during the examination. You'll be called back soon. Play nice," Fi grinned wickedly and took off for the door where her doctor waited.

They looked at each other for a moment, sizing the other up and wearing their forced smiles proudly.

"How have you been?" Campbell asked with his sickening politeness.

"I've been good. How about you?"

"Good."

"Good."

…

"Still a soil scientist?"

"Yeah. Still a paramedic?"

"Yeah."

…

"Do you want to sit down?" Michael suggested.

"Sure."

They sat down beside each other and across from the same woman he sat next to before. She kept staring at them over the edge of her tabloid magazine until she finally had to say something. "I think it's so wonderful that the two of you are having a baby. Twenty years ago, life partners couldn't have found a woman willing to do that for them."

Campbell and Michael exchanged looks. "Yeah that's true…" Michael replied, figuring that it was better to agree than to explain the real situation.

The rest of the examination, they had to answer personal questions about their 'relationship.' Luckily, they were called back to see Fiona before they had to respond to a question about their sleeping arrangements.

Michael grimaced at the familiar pictures on the wall of Fiona's exam room. She was seated comfortably on the bed flipping through her new _Gun Digest_. Campbell stood on one side and he was on the other. The door opened after an eternity of silence and the doctor walked in.

"Well Fiona, everything looks good. So far, everything is as it should be. You're about eight weeks along, like you thought. I don't foresee any problems with the pregnancy as long as you take it easy. I'll prescribe some prenatal vitamins and something for when morning sickness really starts to kick in."

The potential fathers and Fi felt similar relief rush through them. The doctor smiled at the looks on their faces.

"So which one of you is the father and which one is the soon-to-be uncle?"

Fiona jumped right in with the answer. "This is my ex-boyfriend, Campbell, and this is my ex-_ex_-boyfriend, Michael. I'm not sure which one is the father, so I'd like to know what DNA testing options are available."

The doctor looked like she was in shock, but she quickly recovered. "Well, there's a test we can perform at twenty weeks. There is a small margin for complications or miscarriage; however, they're very slim."

"Twenty weeks it is."

A scheduled appointment and a sheet of foods and drinks to avoid later, they left to get some lunch…together. Great, more bonding time with the goof named after soup.

Twenty weeks couldn't come soon enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4-**** Good old Campbell**

Four weeks down, eight to go.

It seemed like her time was evenly split between lunches with Campbell and helping with jobs. She worked behind the scenes on things like paperwork, gizmo creating, and surveillance. Of course, she complained the entire time.

The talk had yet to happen. He didn't ask, she didn't bring it up, and they acted as if nothing had changed. He was more concerned about how she felt, but other than that they went on without mentioning the small swell of her stomach and the baby causing it.

"Why does Campbell need me to go to lunch with you?" Michael asked for the tenth time.

"He said that it's work related. I didn't push. Stop asking!"

He backed off. Angry Fi was bad. Angry _pregnant_ Fi was terrible. It was like Hitler on steroids.

They spotted Campbell at a table outside of the Carlito. He waved and they slowly walked over to join him. He motioned to a brown bag on the table.

"I got you mango-berry yogurt with a dill pickle and a bag of chips," Campbell informed her. She lit up and gladly tore into the containers holding her favorite craving-induced snack.

He looked at Michael and they held the gaze for a moment. They had been secretly vying for Fiona's approval and attention since the first appointment. It was an ongoing one-up battle, and neither one wanted to lose.

"Thanks for coming, Mike. I have a problem that I need your help with," he explained after the staring contest ended.

"What is it?"

"A week ago, my ambulance was called to the scene of a respiratory arrest. It was a man and a woman, but the woman had a wedding ring and the man didn't. The man's lung had been punctured during their…activities…and we had to take him in. Her arm had also been broken in several places. She told us that we had to take them in as anonymous patients, but it wasn't in their best interests. Health records, insurance, things like that, require names. The man threatened me and my partner if we told anyone what happened. We didn't say anything other than their real names. I thought that was a good compromise, but my partner was 'accidentally' ran over on Tuesday. He's okay—a little busted up—but now I've been receiving threats from someone…"

Good old Campbell and his good old problems. Oh how he missed him. "Who was this couple?"

"Elizabeth Brent and Antony Marcello. She seemed high-class, but the guy had intricate tattoos on his arms like he belonged to a gang or the mafia."

"Great. Are you being followed?" Michael asked as he started to scan the area for a tail of any kind.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it…"

"Michael," Fi said quietly. "Black SUV, tinted windows."

He looked at it and his heart rate already started increasing. He stood up and pulled Fi to her feet protectively behind him.

"Campbell, we need to go now. You're riding with us," he informed him calmly.

The passenger's window gradually began to slide down and the barrel of a fully automatic TMP appeared.

"Why? What do you—"

"Get down!" Michael shouted as he turned around and gathered Fi into his arms. He ducked into the restaurant as Campbell hit the ground, narrowly avoiding the torrent of bullets hurtling towards him.

Screams filled the air and amazingly, no one was hit. The car sped off and Michael inspected Fiona for injury.

"I'm fine. Check on Campbell."

"You okay?" he called over his shoulder, ignoring the roll of her eyes.

Campbell popped up from behind the seat of his chair. "I think so."

"Fi, take him back to the loft in my car. I'll take his car to his place to see if there's something or someone waiting for him there."

"Do you even know where it is?" she asked.

"You can give me directions."

"Shouldn't I go with you?"

"No. You're taking him to my loft. Eat your yogurt and pickles and take it easy."

"You might need backup."

"So I'll call Sam."

She made a little sound of protest and then strode to Campbell's side. She started to fuss over him in the way that she knew drove Michael crazy. He shook his head and put his sunglasses on.

"Campbell, where's your place?"

Sam wandered over to the car window outside of Campbell's condo. He had gotten there right after Michael called and filled him in on the situation. "I don't like this Mikey. I found a pile of cigarette butts and a subway wrapper in an empty parking space with a perfect view into his living room."

"Let's see what we find inside."

Michael cautiously opened the door with his gun drawn. He nodded to Sam and they entered at the same time. At first glance, everything seemed to be in their rightful places. Sam took the other, smaller rooms while Michael stayed in the living room and kitchen. An address book sat out on the countertop with a page torn out. It skipped from _Gale, Karen_ to _Greene, Jason._ He quickly checked the _F's_ for Fiona's name, but it wasn't there.

"Mike, I found a bug in the outlet. Someone has been monitoring him," Sam announced as he held the technological pest in the air. 

"Someone tore a page out of his address book in the _G _section. I think that they might be keeping tabs of Fi too. She'd be the perfect leverage."

"We should get over to her condo and check it out. I bet you there's another one of these puppies in her wall."

"After we pack Campbell a bag. I have a feeling that he'll need to stay at the loft until we sort this out…" Michael scowled.

Sam patted him on the back sympathetically. "You're a good man, Mike."

"Do you think that maybe you could…"

"I don't have a place. I'm staying with your mom, remember?"

"Do you think that she might—"

"She's sort of in hate Campbell mode right now. You know, it's the whole he might be the dad and take Fi away from you thing. She might try to kill him in his sleep if he stays with us."

"I'll go pack a bag for him at the loft then…"

"You're a _really_ good man, Mike. I mean it. Anyone else would have just let him get gunned down."

"It crossed my mind."

After he packed a small bag for his paramedic live-in, they headed over to Fiona's where they found another bug and evidence of surveillance. Michael packed yet another bag, this time for Fi, and they headed back to the loft.

"Why do you have bags?" she asked the second he and Sam entered.

"We found bugs in both of your condos. They're definitely coming after Campbell. I'm guessing that the back up plan for a botched drive by would be to take you and use you as leverage on him. So, you get to stay here until we get them to back off…" Michael explained unenthusiastically. "Fi, you could probably stay at my mom's. She wouldn't mind, would she, Sam?"

"I don't think so, Mike."

"No. I have to stay here. Going back and forth between your mother's house and here wouldn't be safe. We have to stay on lockdown in case they go looking for us," she objected.

"I'm really sorry about this. I didn't know that they'd come after Fiona and I like this," Campbell apologized.

"It isn't your fault. You were just doing your job," she consoled him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah. She's right. You should be out of here by the end of the week," Michael gritted through a forced grin.

If it was any longer than that, he'd surely take a swan dive off the roof.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5- **** Problems**

Sam left as soon as he possibly could. The tension was thick enough to cut with a combat knife. Besides, someone needed to look into the Antony Marcello and Elizabeth Brent characters. They probably saw Michael at the shootout, so Sam was the only option.

How Michael wished he was Sam.

Campbell. Was in is his loft. With Fiona. Stuck inside. For who knows. How long.

At first, nothing was wrong. It was just a little awkward. But as soon as night arrived, a glaringly obvious problem emerged.

Sleeping arrangements.

"I'll take the couch. You two can share the bed," Fiona shrugged as if it was that simple.

"The couch isn't comfortable," Michael argued.

"It isn't good for your back. You need your rest. You are resting for two," Campbell agreed.

"Fine. I'll sleep on the bed."

She left it at that. Michael and Campbell locked their stares with mirroring smiles. The battle had begun.

"This is your place. You should get to sleep in your own bed."

"Oh no, you're a guest. Guests should get the bed."

"But I don't want to impose."

"You aren't."

"I'd feel terrible if I didn't sleep on the couch. You're already being so helpful," Campbell continued.

"I'd feel just as terrible if you did. I don't want to be a bad host."

"No really, it's okay."

"No it's not." That was the first truthful thing he'd said since Sam left.

"Well, we aren't getting anywhere."

"No we aren't."

They sent a hopeful look in Fi's direction. Maybe she would pick and they didn't have to keep fighting over it.

"How about one of you sleeps on the couch and the other sleeps in the chair? That way neither one of you are on the bed…" she suggested with a mischievous smile.

"Great idea. That chair is my favorite," Michael said before Campbell tried to get it. It was an unspoken contest to see who could be closer to her at any given time.

Campbell forced a grin. "Well, if it's your favorite…"

"It is."

"Then I guess I'll sleep on the couch."

"Okay then."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"I'll get ready for bed."

"You do that. I'm going to grab a yogurt."

Michael moved to the fridge while Campbell walked over to the bed. He retrieved the cup of strawberry just in time to see his lips land on her cheek. He ignored the usual unpleasant sensations only witnessing another man kiss Fi caused and replaced them with a spoonful of yogurt.

"Goodnight, Fiona. 'Night, Mike."

He started to climb the steps and Michael let the smile slip from his face. He wandered over to his favorite green chair. Fi had a playful expression on her face that reminded him of a Cheshire cat. Seeing the two of them vie was the only entertainment she got anymore.

"Isn't he great?" she whispered with a contented sigh.

"He's _nice_."

"Just think. We get to spend quality time together just the three of us."

"Oh yeah. I can't wait."

"Me either…" he couldn't help hearing the foreshadowing of doom in her tone. Then it was gone, and she sank into the pillows. "Goodnight, Michael."

"Goodnight, Fi."

Sleeping comfortably in the chair was difficult at best, but as a spy he'd learned to fall asleep pretty much anywhere. Besides, how long would it be before they solved Campbell's problem? They'd solved much harder problems in the past. It would be like a walk in the park.

"Good morning sunshines! I've not only come with the 411 on our mystery adulterers, but I've brought coffee and a healthy smoothie for Fi and junior. You can thank me later," Sam cheerfully announced upon entering the loft.

He set the drinks on the workbench and sat on the stool with a pile of paperwork. They lethargically gathered around the plastic cups. They'd been up for maybe fifteen minutes before Sam barged in. The leftover fog of slumber still clouded what little alertness they had.

"Have I got the show and tell for you! I used my connections to look into this Antony guy. He belongs to the only Italian street gang in Miami. I didn't even know that there were Italian street gangs. News to me. Anyway, they're called _Segugio_. It's Italian for _bloodhound_. They're a nasty crew specializing in who knows what. All they know about these guys is that half of the bodies that wash up in the bay are Segugio related. My cop buddy says they're probably in illegal trafficking and money laundering. From what I hear, they're a top secret, invite only, kind of criminals. If you don't have the tattoo, you aren't in. Only one guy makes the tattoos, so fakes can get in," Sam began as he held up a mug shot of a known Segugio member.

"So there's no way in through Antony. What about the woman?" Michael asked.

"We've hit the lottery, my friend. Elizabeth Brent is the wife of Kent Brent, a powerful, rich, to-do in the Miami business circuit. He owns a huge company. From what I can tell, his money is all over the place. Real-estate, boat sales, city projects, charities, things like that. Before Kent, Elizabeth was living in a homeless shelter and selling anything she could out of the back of a pickup truck. They met at some fundraiser and now she lives in a mansion, has three vacation houses, two cars, and designer clothes. But little miss privileged is reaching too far into the cookie jar. Look at the business records," he pushed the papers towards Michael and Fiona. "He appointed her as the junior vice of finances in his company. She's been having some fun with the records. I think that every single amount in the accounts has been fudged."

"Why would she do that? She already has everything she could ever want," Campbell pointed out.

"She isn't just sleeping with one of the Segugio. She's using her husband's business to help them. There are a lot of records involving boats and housing projects. My guess is that they're smuggling illegal items into the country and distributing them," Michael explained.

"And she's using Kent's company to get them the things they need…" Fi continued.

Sam nodded. "From looks of it, she's their money launderer as well. She's multitalented."

"Okay, but what does this mean for us? How do we get them to back off?" Campbell inquired confusedly. Soil scientists were still kind of new to him…

"It means that we have an in. The reason they want to keep you quiet is because they're afraid of losing their business. If Kent finds out that his wife is not only cheating on him, but using his hard earned money to finance a street gang's exploits, he'll pull the plug. They'll be out in the cold with no prospects. We can use that against them," Michael responded.

Fiona lit up. "Blackmail the blackmailers. I like it."

"That way, they won't retaliate if the husband does find out. Which, he will, if we have anything to do about it."

"Don't tell me we're gonna pull the same thing we did back in '94…" Sam whined.

"Yeah we are."

"But Mikey, that got messy! I don't want to take a gang head on and be a mole! Can't we just go after the husband with the pictures and let him act accordingly? He has enough pull in the city to handle it."

"The body count could be a lot higher. We have to convince the Segugio to back down and then we'll let the husband crash the party."

Fi noticed the lost look on Campbell's face. "The plan is to gather enough evidence against Elizabeth and the gang to be able to blackmail them with. We'll threaten to take it to Kent and force them to back down. Then, we'll give it to him anyway after making sure that he'll catch them at the most inopportune time. From there, it'll be his problem. They'll be too busy trying to save their operation to worry about revenge, especially if we play it close to the chest."

"Alright. That sounds like a good plan…" he said in agreement.

"You'll be out of here by the end of the week," Sam added confidently.

Michael knew that with the way things had gone lately, something was bound to go wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6-**** This might be harder than we thought**

"Sam's going to follow Elizabeth around for a few days. Hopefully, we'll get all that we need in that amount of time. We should focus on the paperwork side of things. Fi, can you call Barry and set up—"

"No, Michael, I can't. The last time I talked to him, my hormones took over and the called ended with both of us in tears. He said that he didn't want to hear from me again until I had the baby."

"Fine. I'll set up the meeting. You and Campbell should stay here. Inside. No balcony or roof."

"Don't worry, Mike," Campbell started with his goofy smile. "I'll take good care of her."

He didn't doubt that he would take good care of her. He would. But if guys with guns showed up, he'd be pretty much useless until _after_ someone got shot up.

Barry agreed to meet at his mom's house since the cops were still digging slugs out of the Carlito. After fifteen minutes of conversation with his mom, he was able to work on the papers with Barry. From there, he went to the different sites he red flagged to see if there was any gang activity.

"I see them."

"Thicker than thieves, aren't they?"

"It's almost…"

"Sickening, I know. There's no way we'd be able to approach them without being a customer. Even then, they probably do checks. This might be harder than we thought."

"Don't say it."

"I already did. Sorry Mike."

He set his binoculars down and stared at the warehouse on the dock. The gang members were way too friendly with one another. Sam was right. They had to go in as a customer. There was just one problem.

"They've seen me with Campbell and Fiona. You're going to have to go in on this one solo."

"That's probably the way they like it. I was thinking that the way to take these guys down without some retaliation is to keep it separate. I'll be the customer with some blackmail materials, let's say I have friends in high places, and you'll be a private investigator. You'll approach Kent and work that spy magic to get him to hire you. Then you'll get the _other_ blackmail materials and they'll think the two weren't connected. They'll think that Elizabeth and Antony were careless and we're home free."

"I like it."

"Besides, this will give me a chance to work on my photography skills. I'll make sure to take the pictures in a way that makes it look like there were two guys with cameras."

"I'll get Fi to work on the cover ID. I have to stop at the store to pick up more pickles."

"Okay. I'll talk to you later. Good luck at the loft."

Ten minutes of angry shouting in her original accent later, she finally agreed to _'do his work for him' _but only after he promised to get pickles andraspberry chocolate mousse yogurt that only two stores in the greater Miami area carried. Of course, she took out her anger on Michael's new cover ID. He could barely bring himself to say his alias. She always found away to get back at him.

"Campbell Goodman, Private Investigator. I'm here to see Kent Brent."

"I don't see you on the appointment list…" the receptionist disputed politely.

"That's because Mr. Brent wants this off the books. There are a few people that he wants me to look into that work here. He wants to keep this quiet. You know how these things go. One person says it to another at the water cooler and before you know it, everyone knows and the people in question clean up after themselves before I can find anything…"

"Oh I see. I'll still need confirmation from Mr. Brent before I can let you in."

He leaned in over the counter with a sideways glance. "There is someone very close to him that I might be looking into. He wouldn't want a call going through there, if you understand my meaning."

Her jaw dropped. "You mean that you're looking into his secretary, Dianne?"

"You have to keep this between us. It's our little secret."

She blushed and pressed the button to open the glass doors. "If you need to…interview me…I know a lot about Dianne. She's a sneaky one. I've always known that something was off about her, but Mr. Brent doesn't listen."

"He should. You seem like you know what you're talking about."

She smiled and watched him walk through the doors. He easily blended into the busy office with his brief case and dark blue suit. He reached the secretary's desk where Dianne was waiting. He was glad that most offices were still stuck in the 1950's. It was hard to sway a man with his charms. If he could, well, maybe he didn't want to find out if he could…

"Dianne?" he asked politely.

"Yes. Do we know each other?"

"No. I've heard a lot about you. All good things."

"Really? Where did you hear them?"

"Mr. Brent. Forgive my manners. I'm…" he took a short breather and added through a jaw-snapping grin, "Campbell Goodman."

"Nice to meet you. How do you know Mr. Brent? I haven't seen you around here before."

"We have a quiet business relationship. I'm a private detective."

"Wow. I bet that's exciting."

"It can be. I had an appointment with Mr. Brent, off the books, can I go in now?"

"Yes of course."

"Thank you."

He opened the office door and quickly shut and locked it behind him. Kent stared at him confusedly with a muttered, "I'll call you back" into the receiver of his phone. "Who are you?"

"The answer to all of your problems. I'm Campbell Goodman, Private Detective."

"How did you get into my office?"

"If I can get into your office, imagine what else I can do. I'm here to offer my services."

"I don't need a private detective. Please leave before I call security."

He stepped forward and gently lifted the phone off of the hook. "You don't want to do that. I have a source in your office. They told me that someone is dipping into your funds. The numbers in your books aren't right. Have you looked at them lately?"

"No, I can't say that I have, but—"

He slammed the papers down in front of Kent and pointed to the circled amounts. "Are those the right numbers?"

"No…no they aren't…how'd you get this? Who's your source?"

"All of my sources are anonymous. It's how I stay in business. I can find the person fabricating these numbers and taking your money. This is a one time offer."

He looked back at the papers and took a moment to think about the deal. "How can I trust you?"

"Trust issues aren't my problem. I need you to make up your mind now. I won't be coming back through those doors after this unless you hire me."

"Alright, we can work something out."

"Fees aren't an issue just yet. Privacy is. I can't do my job if everyone knows about me being here. This stays between me and you. Are we clear?"

"Fine. I don't care as long as you find the employee that's ripping me off."

"I can do that."

"Good. Then we have a deal, Campbell."

He cringed. "Thank you, Mr. Brent. We'll be in touch."

They shook hands and Michael left the office, still unnerved by being called by his nemesis's name. Fiona was an evil genius, and he only loved her more for it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7-**** Plans**

The next few days were routine. They couldn't do anything until Sam had the blackmail photos and materials, and Elizabeth and Antony were being extra careful. Michael talked to Kent and promised that he was working, when really he was trapped in the loft with Campbell and Fiona—who had more mood swings than there were moods. After three jars of pickles and sixteen cups of raspberry chocolate mousse yogurt, Sam finally had some news.

He walked into the loft with an arm load of items and headed straight for the bed where Fiona was seated. "Look what Uncle Sammy brought you today, li'l MJ or CJ. We've got that fancy yogurt, pickles, chips, and juice. And for your mom I've got the new editions of: _Guns and Ammo,_ _Rifles Unlimited, Firearms and more,_ and _Parenting._"

She took them pointedly. "MJ or CJ?"

"Mike Jr. or Campbell Jr."

She took in stride and replied, "Uncle Sammy?"

"Well yeah. I'm Uncle Sammy. Uncle Sam is way too patriotic for me. Sammy sounds more fun and family friendly."

"You have news?" Michael interrupted.

"I do. It's not good, Mike. We've encountered a bit of a…problem."

"Problem?"

"Our entire plan is sort of…screwed up."

"How?"

"Kent must have told his wife about you. Elizabeth got your picture off of the security cameras at the office and gave it to the gang. They've put three hits out. One on Campbell, one on Fi, and one on you…who's also Campbell for some reason…"

Campbell looked up from the old edition of _Parenting_. "Hits?"

"Yeah. They want all three of you dead. Whatever they're importing must be pretty heavy stuff. We can't play on the private investigator angle and now none of you can leave."

Michael wanted to jump off of the balcony. It was already tense enough. With just Sam working on the job, it could take a very long time to finish it. How would they get Fi to her appointments?

Sam sensed the apprehension. "Don't worry about it. We'll find a way to get Fi to and from the doctor's. Anywhere else is off limits. I'm thinking that the blackmail thing isn't going to work without repercussions. I think that we'll have to get the cops in on it. We can only do that after we get enough proof that more than adultery and money laundering is going on. Any ideas?"

"We need into their gang. If we have a man on the inside, we'll have something to take to the police…" Michael responded distractedly. He was doomed to being roommates with Campbell for life. He knew that he was. What if they couldn't solve it? They'd have to relocate him. What if Fi's baby was his? Fi would have to go with him…

"How? They're best buds! We should go in as the customer," Sam argued.

"But we don't even know what they're doing. You're the only one that can work this. We can't afford a mistake. The safer option is to find a way into the gang itself. Look into it. See if there's any way to get in. If not, we'll figure something else out."

Sam nodded. "Fine, but you'll have to stay here until it's safe again. We can't risk leading anyone back here. Not with Fi and junior on the line."

"How will we get the things we need or to the hospital?" Campbell asked as he nervously took Fiona's hand in his own. Michael tried to pretend that he didn't notice. He did.

"Anything you need I can pick up. Maddie and I can take turns carpooling her to her appointments. I doubt you'll have too many to sneak to. We should get you out of here soon. Meanwhile, consider it a vacation without actually going anywhere."

"That makes no sense," Fi growled. Sam tossed his hands up defensively.

"Sorry. I was just trying to make the situation a little easier to take."

"Thanks, Sam. Keep us updated on what's going on," Michael sighed as the reality sunk in. He was stuck inside with them for at least a week. Oh joy.

"Will do, Mikey. Take it easy, Fi…" he paused as he got to Campbell and decided a stiff nod was good enough. "I'll be in touch."

He left and Fiona plopped—as much as she could plop—onto the bed. "You know what this reminds me of, Michael?"

He thought back and a smile spread across his face. "Lisburn just outside of Belfast."

"We were stuck inside for a month to avoid some angry men with guns," she explained to the confused and left behind Campbell.

"Oh. Why were they mad at you?"

Michael and Fiona exchanged glances. "It's complicated…"

"We have time. It isn't like we're going anywhere," he joked weakly.

Fiona started the story and Michael looked up at the stairs trying to figure out how many times he'd have to fall down them before his neck broke. It sounded like more fun than rehashing his life story with his new bunkmate.

After a while, there was only so much working out someone could do before it got old. A week went by and Sam still hadn't found anything. Campbell kept to himself mostly or talked to Fi about anything he could think of. Michael tried to keep busy with working out, cleaning out his computer, reorganizing the loft, creating working transmitters from scratch, making new slicks, and trying to beat his record time of resembling his favorite handgun. But as the week drew to a close, he was ready to let the hitman do his job. Being bored wasn't enough. No, he had to be stuck with the most boring human on the planet. The most boring human on the planet who was trying to take away _his_ Fiona's attention.

"The top five names for a boy this year are: Jacob, Ethan, Joshua, Daniel, and Alexander…" Campbell announced as he read _Parenting_ out loud. It was either that or gun catalogs, and of course he wasn't a fan of violence. Wimp.

"Isn't early to be thinking about names?" she asked from her place reclining on the bed.

"Maybe, but my parents had names picked out even before they had kids. I think it's kind of cool to know who they'll be before they're born."

"I'm only in my second trimester."

Michael didn't say anything. He was too busy cleaning his guns for the fifteenth time.

"I know. It's interesting to know what the popular names are, though."

She sighed. "I suppose. I'm more a fan of the popular models of rifles for the year than names…"

"Here are the ones for a baby girl: Emma, Isabella, Emily, Madison, and Claire."

Michael's head snapped up from the workbench. He saw the horrified look on Fiona's face and the tears about to fall as she echoed the last name. "_Claire_?"

"Yeah. Claire. Do you like it?" he blindly asked.

She started to cry and Michael ran to her side with a death glare in Campbell's direction. He gathered her into his arms and she sobbed into his shirt.

"What did I say?" Campbell frowned.

"She had a sister named Claire. She died."

"Oh…" he realized. "I'm sorry, Fiona. I didn't know."

"I have some good…" Sam trailed off and shut the door behind him. He took in the scene and decided that it was best if he didn't ask. "…news. I think I've found a way in."

That perked Fiona up. "You have?" she sniffed as she untangled herself from Michael's grasp.

"Yeah. I thought that Kent Brent was a dried up source since he stopped calling you ages ago, but I'm starting to rethink that. I managed to get a few shots of Elizabeth with Antony outside of one of his properties. They were hot and heavy and I caught it all on film. I also got a few pictures of the shipment going into the property. Take a look at this, Mike."

He handed him the picture. He couldn't believe it. "All of this…over _wine_?"

"People will pay top dollar for their wines. Problem is, some wines aren't allowed into the country because of the mix of alcohol and grapes. This wine is top dollar, premium mix. Three sips of that and you're drunk as a skunk. It's big with the rich folks around here. There's something about getting their wine illegally that makes them feel all warm and tingly."

"Our resident drunk would know," Fiona smirked, having recovered from her outburst. Campbell was still feeling rather bad about it, and a little jealous that Michael knew more about her life than he did.

"I would. I'm more of a mixed drink person personally, but wine isn't bad. Now that we know what they're selling, we can play both sides. We can go in as the customer and as the private investigator. We'll get to go into the workings of their operation and stage it so Kent shows up with the cops at the perfect time. The bad guys get thrown in jail and everyone can go back to their lives," Sam explained happily.

"Good work, Sam. It sounds good. Approach Kent as a consultant on the case. Tell him the plan, but make sure that he'll wait until the right time. The last thing we need is for him to wreck the entire operation," Michael replied.

"I'm on it, Mikey. You'll be out of here in no time. I'll bring by some more supplies when I get the chance."

He clapped him on the back and merrily exited the loft. Michael didn't get his hopes up. He knew that it couldn't be over so soon. That was just his luck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8-**** Sam's chapter**

A fedora. He was wearing a _fedora_. His suit jacket was slung over one shoulder and he had on sunglasses. They weren't as cool as Michael's were, but no one's shades could be. He kept his head bowed and his face away from the cameras. The last thing he needed was for Elizabeth to recognize him when he showed up to be a buyer. Hence the fedora. Besides, it went his sleazy private investigator vibe.

"Chuck Finley here to see Mr. Brent," Sam barked in a smooth tone of voice.

The receptionist checked the books. "I'm sorry, but you aren't on his schedule."

"What? How can I not be on the schedule? I had my secretary call your office three times to confirm my appointment! I know that I have to be on there!"

"Okay, sir. I'll keep looking."

"Mr. Brent isn't my only meeting today. I have places to be. I can't be late. If I am, I'm going to walk out of those doors and I'm taking my business with me."

"I'm sorry, sir. I still don't see you listed."

"There's a million dollar property sale at stake here, miss. I guess that I'll be looking into your competition…" he turned to walk out of the building.

"Wait. I'm sure we can work this out. Why don't you go on in? Tell Dianne that Kelly sent you. My apologies on the mix up, sir."

He headed towards the door with a snappy, "It better not happen again."

The office was too preoccupied to spy the detective look alike from the 1940's. He reached Dianne's desk, briskly saying as he passed, "Kelly sent me in." She nodded and returned to the stack of documents towering on her desk.

He shut the door behind him and sat across from Kent. "Chuck Finley. Consultant."

"Consultant? On what?" he asked confusedly.

"I believe you met my partner, Campbell Goodman. You stopped calling, but we didn't stop investigating. We've found the culprit. There are a few pictures I have to show you, but I don't think that you're going to like them. Not one bit."

"I stopped calling because my wife told me that Campbell Goodman was a fraud. I don't require your services."

"Oh, but you do. Take a look at these," he pushed them across the tabletop and swept his fingers across the brim of his hat, just to add a bit of Finley flare.

"These have to be fake. My wife would never cheat on me!" Kent disputed.

"Cheating wasn't our concern, Mr. Brent. They're located in front of one of your properties. The man is Antony Marcello of the Segugio. They're a street gang here in Miami. The barrels in the background are illegally imported wines. Your wife is stealing money from your company and taking your properties to facilitate the criminal activities of the gang. Not only that, she's using this company to launder money as well."

Kent leaned his forehead on his folded hands. "This is too much."

"It's true, Mr. Brent. Those photographs prove it. I also have documents to back our findings up. Your wife isn't who you thought she was."

"I knew that she was pulling away from me. I thought that it was the stress of the job. I never thought that she could…" he took a shaky breath. "I'll take care of it."

"No, no, no, no. Mr. Brent, this gang is ruthless. If you confront them, they will kill you. That much I know," Sam disputed.

"Then what do I do?"

"What do _we_ do. We're in this together. They told you that my partner was a fraud because we were onto them. They have a hit out on him now. If they find out that we know, we're done for. But don't worry, we have a plan."

"What plan?"

"I'm going to approach them as a buyer for their illegal wine. When I have enough on them, you'll go to the police. They'll shut them down and the gang will be too busy trying to save their own skins to worry about ours. You can't tell anyone this, especially not your wife. They can't know who I really am or my cover is blown. If this works, they'll think that I was just a buyer that fled the second the cops showed up and Campbell Goodman is the man that brought you this evidence. This way, everyone stays clean. We'll be out of your hair the moment it's over."

"That sounds good. You were careful when you came in here?"

"I was."

"Good. You know, they tried to tell me that she was only after my money. I didn't want to believe it. I sort of knew deep down and I still did nothing about it."

"Don't blame yourself, Mr. Brent. People are never who they say they are. We'll be in touch, but the name Finley isn't mentioned to anyone. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand. What do I do while you're doing whatever it is you're doing?"

"Nothing. I'll contact you when it's time to move. Until then, keep this quiet. You let this spill and you might as well dig our graves yourself."

He inclined his head in comprehension. "I'll wait for you call."

"Good day," he said as he tipped his hat and dramatically tossed his jacket across his shoulder.

After a quick stop at the convenience store and loft—Michael was more than happy to have someone else over for a little while—he got ready to head over to the property. A bottle of hair gel: five dollars and twenty-six cents. A white ascot adorned with navy blue island print: seventeen dollars and three cents. A fashionable brown and silver cane: twenty-one dollars and zero cents. A snooty accent and cheesy limp: zero dollars. A fun new cover ID: priceless.

He looked like the love child of Alec Baldwin and Mr. Peanut. The two gang members guarding the entrance to the waterside home couldn't control the laughter spilling from their mouths. Sam did his best to appear completely and utterly insulted by their attitude.

"What are you laughing at?" he demanded with a pointed wavering of his cane.

"What are you doing here, prissy man?" the taller of the two chuckled.

"I am Winston Marx of the Marx restaurant chain. Surely you've heard of us."

"Nope."

"We own the most successful five star restaurants along the East Coast! We're opening one just north of Miami and I heard that you have some wine for sale."

The short, excitable one leapt forward and held a semi-automatic .38 caliber to the underside of Sam's chin. "Where'd you hear that?"

"My sources are not of your concern. I'd very much appreciate it if you lowered your weapon. I wouldn't want to get violent."

That set them off into fits of laughter once again. "You? Violent?" the short one snickered. "Show me what you've got, fancy boy."

"If you insist."

He grabbed the short guy's wrist and twisted it behind his back, effectively causing the gun to fall to the ground. He took his cane and shoved it into the other man's chest to keep him at bay. He gripped the wrist harder until the shorty screamed.

"I'd like to speak with your superiors about purchasing a large amount of wine for my restaurants. The profit for you will be acceptable, I assure you. Can we please get the show on the road?" Sam asked.

The taller one reluctantly opened the gate and Sam released the other. He straightened his suit and limped past them with a broad smile. "Thank you."

Barrels of wine were all over the garage and private dock. Antony was overseeing their inventory when he spotted Sam hobbling along the sidewalk. He didn't waste time getting to or holding him at gun point. "Who the hell are you?"

"Winston Marx. I need to speak with the manager about purchasing a large quantity of wine for my restaurant chain."

He lowered his weapon. "I'm in charge here and you're on my property."

"You're a hard group to find. It's inconvenient for customers such as myself."

"Listen fruitcake, you can't be here. Take your cane and limp out of here. I have a business to run."

"I'm ready to drop several million on this operation in cash. How does that sound?"

He gave him a quick onceover. "We're careful about our customers. I'm not about to do business with some cripple off the street. We look into our clients very carefully before we even show the merchandise."

"I want your wine for my restaurants. Do whatever you have to. I assure you this deal will be good for both of us."

"Fine. I'll have my people check you out. But mark my words, if we find anything that even remotely disputes who you say you are, you're dead. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good. Now get lost before I drag you out of here by your good leg."

Sam frowned and calmly walked to his car. The wheels were set into motion. All he needed was an airtight cover ID, evidence, perfect timing, Kent, and several cops…if someone didn't blow it first…


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9-** **The talk**

"Thanks, Sam. I'll get Barry to set up a few phones, just in case they start calling your 'restaurants.' I can see what paperwork I can get together on Winston Marx," Michael said into the receiver of his cell phone. "I'll call you when it's done."

"Okay, Mikey. I'll talk to you then."

He hung the phone up and turned to Fiona and Campbell. "He talked to Antony. They're going to look into him."

"That's good, right?" Campbell hoped.

"Yes. That's good. When he passes their test, he'll be a new buyer and he's in. It's only a matter of time until we get the evidence we need," he answered confidently.

"How can you be sure that he'll pass their test?"

"Don't worry about it, Campbell. This isn't the first time we've done something like this. Is it, Michael?"

"No it's not."

"See? Everything will work out," she assured him with a tender hand on his arm. He put his hand over hers with a small smile and then looked towards the bathroom.

"I should get a shower in before bed. I won't be long."

Like he would miss Campbell. It was a shower, not a trip to Istanbul. And why did he have to announce it like anyone would actually care? No one did. Well, at least he didn't.

Campbell vanished into the bathroom and Michael sat down in the green chair beside Fi on the bed. A silence fell between them. They both knew that it had been put off for too long, and they probably wouldn't have a chance to be alone for awhile longer.

"I think it's time to talk," he told her slowly. The last thing he wanted was for their conversation to start out with one of her bouts of Irish shouting. Instead, she merely nodded in agreement.

"I don't expect you to stay here if the baby is yours, Michael. You can still get your old job back and I'll still help you. Everything doesn't have to change just because we have a child together…" she practically whispered.

"You don't expect me to stay or you don't want me to?" he asked angrily.

"It isn't about whether I want you to or not. I have to accept the reality of the situation."

"Which is?"

"I'm going to be a mother. You might be a father, but that's the only thing that's different."

"What are you talking about? This changes everything!"

"How? I still want what I can't have and you're still…you. So a baby is thrown into the mix. It doesn't make me forget what I want and it can't make you forget what you want either."

"Being a parent isn't just another development in a job we're on, Fi. It's huge. People change everyday because they have children."

"They do, but I don't think we will, Michael. For as long as I've known you, even when you were a McBride, you've been a spy. It's who you are. I'm always going to be who I am, maybe a bit more careful, but I'm not going to stop loving shoes and explosives because I have a kid I have to pick up from daycare."

"Forget about my burn notice. Forget about my job. I want to know what you want to do."

"I want the same thing I've wanted since we met. I want to be with you. It's just not that simple."

"Why can't it be?"

"It's never simple when it comes to us. We aren't good at relationships. We know how to provide tactical support and how many exits are in a building, but being together isn't something we know how to do."

He rubbed his forehead with his fretful fingertips. She had a point, but they could learn. He wanted to learn. "You haven't asked me what I want to do."

"Maybe I don't want to know."

"Why are you making this harder than it has to be?"

"You might want to be here for our child, but one day, you're going to get bored. You're going to miss traveling the world and taking down bad guys for your country. Our son or daughter will know that they kept you from that. He or she will know that the only reason their father stayed with their mother is because they were born. I'll know it too. I want you to be happy. I want you to want to be with me because you love me, not because I got pregnant."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder. "Fi…"

She pulled away from him. "Don't tell me that it isn't true. One day, it will be. You might think that the job doesn't matter, or you actually want this, but your sense of responsibility jades you. Your call to duty is all you know. That's all this is."

"You can't speak for me! I want to be with you and I want to be a father! The job doesn't mean anything anymore!"

"My point exactly! For the entire time I've been in Miami, getting back in was all you cared about and suddenly you want to be with me? If you really loved me, we would have made it this time around. We've tried more than once to make it work and we can't. What's changed? Another life depends on us. I don't want to mess a kid up just because our relationship isn't working out. You know what it's like to have parents that fight. It would be better if we went our separate ways again like we did before."

"You don't even want me to know my child?"

"No, Michael. That isn't what I'm saying. You can still be there, but not with me."

He swallowed the emotions rising in the back of his throat. There was a question he needed an answer to. "Is this because you think that Campbell would make a better father than I would?"

"No. You'd both make great fathers. His life is a bit more…stable…than yours. He doesn't have enemies on every continent on the planet and his job doesn't involve becoming someone else for the sake of a mission."

"He would be a good father…" he agreed quietly. "Do you…" he paused and sucked in an apprehensive breath. "Are you hoping that it's his?"

"I like him a lot and he could provide a stable environment, but…" she trailed off. "I'm not hoping for anything. Whatever happens, happens. It isn't like I have any say in the matter."

"I didn't ask if you had a say in it. I asked if you want it to be his over mine."

"Hey Mike," Campbell said as he wandered over to them with nothing more than a towel on. "Your sink is leaking pretty badly. You should take a look at that…" he stopped and saw the serious expressions on their faces. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No. We were just talking about the plan," Fiona replied as she forced a bright smile.

"Oh. Don't let me stop you."

"No, that's okay. The sink needs my attention right now," Michael muttered with a serious glance in her direction. He got up and retrieved a wrench from the table before heading into the bathroom.

He shut the door and gripped the sides of the sink with a frown pulling at the sides of his mouth. She didn't know what she was talking about. How could she? She didn't know what he was thinking or what he felt. He didn't want to be with her just because of the baby. He always wanted to, but he was too selfish to try to make things work between them. That could change. He'd do everything in his power to make it work. But if she didn't want to, if she thought Campbell could make her and the baby happier than he could, then he'd walk away because the only thing he wanted more than her was for her to be happy.

The water dripped from the pipes onto his bare feet. He bent down and got to work fixing the leak. It was too bad that a wrench couldn't fix the leak in his eyes. He wasn't the kind of man that cried. It wasn't how he was wired. Somehow, Fiona could find a way to make him do things no one else could. Talk, trust, love, break, cry…just to name a few…


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10-**** Messed up**

Another seven days rolled by as the gang looked into Winston Marx. They had to set up the most complicated cover ID they ever had. Fake phone lines to more than one of his restaurants, the deeds for those restaurants, payroll, a list of workers—all played by the masterful cast of Barry, Michael, and Fiona—in the kitchens or dinning rooms, a complete work up on Mr. Marx himself, a foreclosed house for his residence, and the papers to his Aston Martin. The extra mile paid off, and a meeting was set up between Sam and Antony.

He fiddled with his ascot and checked the time on his watch again. Antony was running ten minutes late. A big SUV, one that looked suspiciously similar to the one Mike described in the attempt on Campbell's life, rolled up in front of him. The door opened and Antony motioned to him to get inside. He did and found himself staring Elizabeth Brent in the face.

"Who is she?" Sam inquired, trying to sound as if he was offended by her unannounced appearance.

"She's in charge of some of our financial holdings. She'll be with us from now on. We looked into you and like what we found. Let's talk business," Antony pulled the flaps of his leather jacket to reveal a semi-automatic .38 caliber. Not too loud, but definitely not subtle.

"Whoa! What's that for?" he cried as he tossed his hands in the air. "Don't shoot!"

"I like my clients to know that we take our business very seriously. Once you're a customer, you're always a customer. A…discreet customer…if we understand each other."

"We do."

"Good. How many barrels of wine are you interested in purchasing?"

"Enough to get all of my restaurants through the year."

"That's a lot of wine."

"It is. Do you have enough?"

"Excuse us for a moment," Antony turned to Elizabeth and began discussing something to quietly for Sam to hear. In the meantime, he took one of the sixteen or so bugs Michael had made in the past few weeks and hid it underneath the seat.

"Well?" Sam asked after a few more seconds.

"What you're suggesting would clean out our inventory now and half of the shipment coming in next week. We don't have the authorization to make the deal," he explained.

Then it hit him. Antony wasn't completely in charge like he'd let him to believe. There was another boss, which meant more clearance and more time. Michael was going to kill himself. "You mean that you aren't the one in charge?"

"I oversee the shipments and I'm in charge of the properties and boats, but I don't run the entire operation. Vince does that. I'm going to have to talk to him about this. If he gives me the go-ahead, you'll be meeting with him to finalize the deal. It could take several days to decide. We know where to find you when we want to. Get out."

The car stopped and the door flew open. Sam frowned and did as he was told. Of course there would have to be more to getting inside.

"Ow! I did all I could! I'm not the one running the company! I got the bug in his car and I found out the main boss's name, so don't hit me! It isn't my fault that they're more paranoid than the entire Russian government. I've gotten into top secret missile silos easier than this!" Sam defended as he nursed the arm Fiona just punched. "I'm all on my own here! Sure, I've got you guys and Barry backing me up on the phones and documents, but one man can't take down an entire gang in a day! These things take time!"

"Time isn't something we have, Sam. Michael's losing his mind, Campbell's still Campbell which is making Michael even crazier, and I'm sick and tired of staying inside that God-awful loft!" she snapped angrily.

"I can only do so much, Fi. I'm sure that Mikey can hold it together for awhile longer. I remember one summer we spent underground. Everyone else was certifiable at that point, except Mike. He kept his cool even when we were under enemy fire and even when the rats showed up and I mean rodents. Big rodents! That big!" he illustrated with his hands.

"He hardly gets any time alone and the rest of the time he's stuck with Campbell and I."

"I get your point. I'd lose it too if I were stuck inside with the two of you…no offense…"

She hit his arm again. "None taken."

He rubbed his shoulder and sent her a sideways glance. "Do you really want to hit the man that's driving? That's an accident waiting to happen if you ask me."

"I can hit anyone I want to."

"I fear the discipline in your household. That poor kid."

"Shut up, Sam."

"Hey, if it wasn't for me you'd still be at the loft without a safe way to get to this doctor checkup thing. A little gratitude would be nice."

She made a small sound of protest and folded her arms across her chest. She looked around the interior of the car and reluctantly said, "This is a nice car."

"I'll take that as a thank you. You and junior are very welcome."

"Stop calling my baby that."

"Well, we don't know if I'm going to have a little niece or nephew yet."

"Who made you the uncle?"

"C'mon, Fi! I can't stand you, you can't stand me. We're practically family!"

"I have five brothers! I don't think my child needs another drunk uncle."

"If that's MJ in there, I will be the uncle. There's no argument."

"If it's Campbell's, you won't be."

"Speaking of paternity, did you and Mike have 'the talk'?"

"We did."

"How'd that go?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Mike isn't the kind of guy that's going to walk away from his duties as a father."

"I know that! I don't want him to. That's all it is with men. Duty and honor. Nothing else matters to you!"

He winced at her tone of voice. Her Irish accent scared him more than he liked to admit. "Not all men are about duty. Mikey wouldn't stay just because he felt he had to."

"He leaves just because he thinks that he has to."

"Okay, maybe. Not really the point…"

"Maybe that is the point! We didn't work then, we didn't work now, what's going to be different this time?"

"Yeah, your track record is spotty. That doesn't change the fact that he loves you for some reason. I've tried to tell him that you were wrong for him. I've tried to tell him it was a bad idea to be with you. I've seen what he looks like after you're through with him and he still doesn't care. No matter how messed up it is when you're together, he's the least messed up when you are. Which makes no sense because you're one messed up lady. Last time I checked, messed up and more messed up is just…even more messed up…"

He took a deep breath as she gaped at him. "You have no right to—"

"I wasn't finished!" he shouted. She quieted down. "I can't speak for Mike, but I know who he is. Yeah, he'll want to stay because he thinks it's his responsibility. Yeah, it might be some strange right to be a father thing. But there's one thing I know for sure and that's that he loves you. He doesn't say it and he has trouble showing it, but he does. You two have the most violent, twisted, confusing, relationship that I've ever seen and that's saying something. Look at my love life! I couldn't marry Veronica because I am married and this is Mrs. Reynolds car. I'm only dating her because I stole this before she gave it to me!"

"Your point?" she whispered.

"You're being stupid because you're scared. I didn't think you could get scared. I guess I was wrong. Mikey isn't going anywhere. Not if you want him to stay this time."

"I've wanted him to stay! It hasn't stopped him from pursuing his burn notice and trying to leave me every chance he gets!"

"He's a spy, Fi. It's all he's known. You're the only real family he's ever had and in his mind, going back in is the only way to keep you safe."

"If he wants to keep me safe, he should stay with me!"

"Tell him! The two of you have enough things left unsaid to write a book longer than _War and Peace_…which is an appropriate title for it…"

The car came to a stop in the parking garage of the hospital. He took the keys out of the ignition and turned to her with his serious face on. "I'm tired of being put in the middle of you and Mike. Imagine how junior would feel if you two kept at this off and on thing."

She nodded and put her hands on her stomach. "I wish it wasn't so complicated."

"It doesn't have to be. It's only as complicated as you make it."

"Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime. Does this mean that I get to have uncle status?"

"No."

"But—"

"_No_."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11-**** We have a problem **

"Maybe you should buy me a drink after this frisk…" Sam told the young guy searching him. "You're taking an awfully long time on the inside of my legs."

"He's clean," the young guy snapped crossly as he backed away from him.

He straightened his shiny jacket and waited for the boss to turn around in their stereotypical evil villain egg chair. It was all a little too James Bond for him. Mike was the spy. He was the army man. Being carted around from car to car with a bag over his head—one that smelled like they'd just dumped the manure out of it that morning—wasn't really his scene. The building was large, whatever it was, and the windows were covered. He had no way of knowing where he was except for the fact that they went over a bridge, but in Miami that wasn't anything special.

The chair swiveled to reveal an older woman hiding behind a blanket of smoke and a pair of large, brown sunglasses. It smelled like Maddie's house. She set the long cigarette down and folded her catlike claws. "I understand that you want to purchase an entire shipment of wine. Are you that heavy of a drinker, Mr. Marx?"

"No ma'am. It's for my restaurants."

"I see. Well, our barrels are fifty thousand dollars each. There are fifty barrels in a shipment, and the amount of wine you desire would be about seventy-five barrels total. We have fifty barrels in now and another fifty on the way. There's more than that in storage. However, those are reserved. Overall, you're looking at three million, seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Does that sound affordable to you?"

"I get what my customers want, ma'am. This is what they want. Three million is nothing but chump change."

She chuckled. "I like you, Mr. Marx. We have a deal. When can you bring me your money?"

"A few days. You take cash only, correct?"

"Yes. I'm looking forward to it."

"There are just a few minor details before I drop my money," Sam sighed. "I need to taste the wine and I need to see where it's being kept."

This time the chuckle was a shrill laugh. "Those are some demands. But, for a customer of your status, they can be met."

She snapped her red fingertips and one of the errand boys in the room scurried off to return with a glass of dark red wine. Sam, being familiar with every drink to have even the slightest alcohol content, tasted it like a pro. It was worth the money. He almost regretted having to turn them in. After all, they needed good wine in the States…

"That's very smooth. Rich, but not overwhelming. My customers will be pleased. What about seeing where it's kept?" he asked.

"Antony will take you to the temporary warehouse. It will be moved to another location tomorrow morning. I'm afraid that you'll get just one look inside the workings of my business. For security reasons, of course. After today, you will never step foot near here again. Antony will get the money from you and an unmarked truck will deliver the goods."

There went the plan. He was supposed to have access longer than a quick peek and the wine was supposed to stay in one place. They didn't have enough to get a conviction yet. It all rode on the assumption that he could gain entry again. The shipment would be gone soon and he had no idea where it would go. Not to mention where the new shipment would come in. He had to make his move then or the entire operation was blown…again.

"Take Mr. Marx to Antony. Goodbye, it was nice to meet you. You will have your wine by the end of the month," she nodded and lit another cigarette.

The young guy took him forcefully by the arm and dragged him into the hallway. On the way out, Sam managed to sneak a photograph on his cell phone. Antony was waiting downstairs. He had to get a call to Kent before then. The cops had to catch them with the wine, otherwise it was mostly hearsay and a few possibly doctored photographs.

"I need to use the bathroom," Sam stated.

"Hold it."

"I have to go now. I had some bad Cuban food for lunch."

The young guy wrinkled his face in disgust. "Fine, but you give me your cell phone."

"Why do you want my phone?"

"So I know you aren't calling anyone. They may have fallen for your act, but I haven't. I think that you're a cop. You have the haircut."

Sam frowned. He didn't have a cop haircut. …right? Right?

"Okay, here it is!" he growled as he slapped the phone in his hand. There went calling Kent. "Can I go now?"

"Yeah sure."

He hobbled into the bathroom and quickly hung his cane from one of the stall doors. He took his wallet out of his pocket and held it close to his mouth. "Mikey, I hope this is transmitting. The plan is messed up again, which you should know if you've been listening. Call Kent and have the cops sent to my location. Hopefully the GPS you put in my shoe still works. I'll let you know when we've stopped."

At the loft, Michael heard him loud and clear. His new coin-shaped transmitter fit perfectly in Sam's wallet. Some of the audio was a bit muffled, but he got the gist. "Fiona, we have a problem."

"What's wrong?" she asked as she stepped away from the fridge with a cup of yogurt.

"They're only going to let Sam see the shipment once and then they're going to move it somewhere else. We have to move now or the entire thing is off. I'm going to get Kent. Keep a watch on Sam's location. He'll let you know when he gets to wherever they're taking him. Let me know where that is so we can get there with the cops."

"You can't leave! There's still a hit on you!"

"By the time I get to Kent's, hopefully Sam will have gotten wherever he has. It's easier to pick Kent up and explain on the way than to keep calling with updates on the location," he responded, gathering the various pieces of evidence into his arms and retrieving his coat.

She stopped him before he got to the door. "If they see you, you're as good as dead."

"Then I won't be seen," he answered calmly. He glanced at Campbell who was seated in the green chair trying to eavesdrop inconspicuously and failing. "You make sure she behaves. Don't even open the door after I've gone."

"Yeah. No problem, Mike."

He nodded and gently kissed her on the cheek. "Call me as soon as you know anything."

"Be careful," she barely whispered.

The air outside was more liberating than he remembered it to be. He got inside the charger, questioning his memory. It had been so long since he'd driven anywhere. He could have sworn he'd forgotten how to.

This time around, he didn't have to talk his way into Kent's office. The two receptionists remembered him all too well. He practically kicked the office door down on his way in. Kent stood up quickly and asked softly, "You have news?"

"It's time to move. My consultant is on the way to their warehouse. We'll call the police as soon as we know exactly where that is. Until then, come with me and bring everything you have on your wife."

Kent cleaned out a safe hiding behind a Monet and handed them over. He put them on the inside of his coat pocket and put his arm around Kent. "We're leaving for an early dinner. You won't be back to the office."

"Okay."

They walked out of the office and Michael laughed loudly. "Can you believe that?"

"Dianne, I'll be gone for the rest of the day. Cancel my five 'o clock meeting and take messages for my calls," Kent explained briskly.

She was about to reply when Elizabeth hurried over. "Why are you leaving?" she asked with a nervous glance in Michael's direction.

"We're going out for dinner. I'll be back soon," Kent promised, just as anxiously.

"Am I invited?" she pressed.

"It's a guy thing. Sorry," Michael answered. "We better hurry. We're running late. Come on, Kent…"

They picked up their pace and got onto the elevator. He let go of him and removed the handgun from underneath the back of his shirt.

"How'd you get that in here?" Kent almost shouted.

"There's a crack in between the metal detector and the door. I just slipped it through there when I 'tied my shoe.' That isn't the point. Elizabeth is going to call her gang buddies and tell them about me. We aren't going to be alone."

The doors opened and they made a dash for his car. They were almost there when a voice stopped them.

"Hey baby, could you move away from Campbell Goodman? I have some business to take care of."

In unison, they turned to face Elizabeth and her silver Smith and Wesson .22 caliber pistol.

"What are you doing?" Kent shouted.

"You weren't supposed to find out! No one was supposed to find out! I have to clean up the mess he created before the cops get involved!"

"You don't have to kill him, Liz! We can still make it work. Just put the gun down and—"

A shot rang out and Michael looked down at the bumper of his car. There was a penny sized hole just above the tail light. He drew his gun on her. "Now I have to get that fixed! Thanks a lot!"

"Don't shoot her!" Kent cried. He rolled his eyes.

"She's stealing from you and using this business to help her lover and his band of merry criminals!"

"I still don't want you to shoot her!"

He sighed. "Fine. I won't shoot her." He pulled the trigger and the bullet snapped her six inch heel in two. She fell to the ground and he ran over to her. She reached for the gun, but he stomped on her hand and kicked it away. He threw his keys at Kent. "Open the trunk and get a couple of zip ties. We're taking her along for the ride."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12-**** I think it's over**

"Is she okay back there?" Kent inquired for the tenth time.

"She's fine. She shot an air hole right into my trunk."

He turned a corner and they heard her body hit the inside of the car. Kent looked behind him worriedly while Michael made a mental note to take the turns a bit gentler. His phone started to ring. "What can you tell me?"

"Sam has just entered what used to be an office building. It's listed as one of Mr. Brent's soon-to-be properties. How are things there? Did anyone see you?" Fiona asked.

"Well…" he was interrupted by a muffled scream and Kent's mantra of, _'Oh God, oh God…'_

"What's that?" she asked nervously.

"Elizabeth made me, so she's in my trunk. Have you called the police?"

"I figured that you had to get there first, so I'm going to call after I hang up with you."

"Good. Tell them it's gang activity, but don't go into what they'll find. They'll get there faster if they think it's more than illegal wine."

"I will. And Michael…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't get caught by anyone else."

He smirked. "I'll talk to you later."

"Who was that?" he asked the second Michael hung up.

"My other associate. Do you know of an old office building you're going to turn into a property?"

"Yeah. There's only one I've invested in."

"We're going there."

The bag was lifted off of his head in a swift motion. Stacks and stacks of barrels lined the walls. He wandered around for a brief moment, pretending to check the temperature and moisture level in the room.

"What are you doing, fruitcake?" Antony asked gruffly as Sam ran his hand down the chipping drywall.

"Paint gives off chemicals sometimes. Are you sure that the wine is okay in here?" he countered. If anyone could stall for time, Sam could. He was a champion of small talk and grievances. There was a reason they always sent him in as their distraction. He was just so damn good at it.

"It's fine."

"I want to taste it."

"I'm not cracking a barrel just for you."

"They're all mine, aren't they?"

"Not until the money changes hands."

"Money won't change hands if I don't get to taste what I'm buying."

"Didn't the boss already give you a glass?"

"But that wine mightn't be the same as this wine."

"It's the same."

"Not necessarily. I have to make sure."

Antony shook his head, muttering some Italian curses under his breath. "Okay. I'll go get a glass…"

He left the room and Sam quickly started snapping pictures with the phone the young guy was dumb enough to give back. When Antony came back, he was merely playing a game of Bejeweled on his phone. "What can I say? I'm hooked on this game!"

"Yeah whatever. Here's your wine," he grumbled as he pushed it to him.

He took it and purposely spent longer than he had to going through all of the steps of wine tasting. Surely Mike was almost there.

"Is that it?" Michael asked. They pulled into the parking lot of a large, gray building.

"It is. I don't know why cars are here. This place has been closed down since the late nineties…"

"That's because this is their temporary warehouse. We need to make this a big deal. When we hear sirens, you're going to take Elizabeth in there with the evidence. My consultant is in there right now. He'll be ready to keep them inside. I'll make sure no one comes out this way. All you have to do is keep them talking and not shooting. Can you handle that?"

"I think so."

"Good."

"What do I say?"

"Call them out. We have the papers, photographs, and a taped conversation between Antony and Elizabeth in his car. I have another wireless transmitter with me. Get them to admit to it or at least threaten you. Anything can help. Let's get one thing straight, my name or the name of my consultant is never mentioned. We don't exist. Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you for everything."

He gave him the bug and they got out of the car. Michael opened his trunk and easily passed Elizabeth to her husband.

Sirens screeched in the distance. Kent's expression was less than confident. Michael had to drag him by the sleeve to the door. He shoved him inside and took cover behind the edge of the building.

"What's that?" Antony inquired over the sounds of nearing police cars.

"That sounds like the cops. I'm out of here!" Sam held onto the glass—his fingerprints were all over it—and ran for the backdoor. Antony moved to stop him, but the sound of Kent Brent's voice stopped him.

Sam ducked through the door and made sure that some of the workmen weren't going anywhere with a swift cane to the knees. He spotted Michael around the side of the building taking care of a few other guys that tried to run.

"Mikey! What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"If you want, I can let you walk to the loft or I can give you a ride."

He smiled. "A ride sounds nice, but only if we stop for beers."

They snuck to the charger without the police seeing them.

"I think it's over, brother. We finally got you, Fi, and Campbell off of the hit list."

"We'll see. I just hope that there's enough to put them away for a long time."

"I texted some pictures to a friend of mine on the force. I might have managed to get a picture of the boss lady. Maybe…"

"You didn't."

"Oh I did. It was some of my best work. No one knew about it," he laughed proudly. "Her mug is going to be all over the station. My guess is that she'll have to go back home to Italy. It's too bad. That wine was the best I've ever had."

Michael chuckled. Of course Sam would find a way to try some. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Sam."

"Shouldn't you be letting Fi and Campbell know they aren't on the hit list anymore?"

"I'm going to wait a bit, just to make sure it really is safe."

"Whatever you say, Mike. As long as you're buying, I won't question you."

They stopped at the Carlito for drinks. It only took Sam a few beers to bring up the other situation they were dealing with.

"I heard that you and Fi had 'the talk.' She didn't want to talk about the talk, but I talked anyway. Do you wanna talk about the talk or would rather just hear me talk?"

"That wine really does have a strong mix of grapes and alcohol, doesn't it?"

"Ha-ha. I mean it! My only sources of income are my pension, my lady friends, and this thing we have going. Our thing doesn't really go when you and Fi are having issues. It doesn't work as well. Besides, you're my buddy and I care about you. So start talkin'."

"What about? There's nothing to say."

"There's a lot to say! What if she's having your baby?"

"I'll be a father."

"Wow. I didn't think of that."

"I mean that I'll be the father and that's it. She doesn't want anything more."

"Do you?"

"It's complicated."

"You two are like a broken record! Un-complicate it! Either you are or you aren't! It's as easy as that. You love her. It's screwed up, but you do. She loves you. There's a kid in there and whether it's Campbell's or not, you're still going to love each other. I think that you are the two most screwed up people in the world. No one else can deal with your emotional vacancy and no one else can keep her from shooting or blowing up everything that moves. Or doesn't. Do I like it when you're together? No. Talk about feeling like a third wheel. But it's best for you. Okay? Can I get another beer over here?"

Sam had a point. But he tried to tell her and she wouldn't hear it. How was he supposed to make her realize he wanted to stay and make it work? She was the most stubborn woman he'd ever met. When she felt something, there was no way to change her mind. The big question was still the same. Whose baby was it? If it was Campbell's, he had no chance. But if it was his…well in that case, he was going to be as stubborn as she was. He wasn't going to go anywhere.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13-** **At least we take turns**

"You're sure?" Campbell asked happily.

"I'm sure. I had Barry talk to a few of his friends and the hits were called off. Their entire operation has been shut down. Half of them are in jail and the other half is on a boat back to Italy. It's over," Michael assured him, a little too excited about having his loft back to himself for awhile.

"That's great! Thanks, Mike. You're a lifesaver!" he exclaimed as he shook his hand roughly.

"We should gather our things," Fiona suggested.

"Yeah. Alright."

Michael nodded and wandered towards the balcony doors. He opened them and stepped outside for some air when he heard something that caught his attention.

"There are only a few weeks left until the test. Maybe we should talk," Campbell said quietly.

"Right now?"

"Why not? We've been putting it off. Things were a little too crazy to worry about the baby, but it's quieted down…"

"Shouldn't we wait until we get some time alone?" she returned even softer than before as she looked at where Michael had been.

He'd quickly gotten onto the steps out of sight. He knew that he shouldn't listen in, but when did that stop anyone?

"Mike isn't around. He probably went onto the roof. I don't think that we should put it off anymore. Before we go our separate ways, I'd like to talk about our plans for the future if the baby's mine."

"Fine. Let's talk."

He heard one of them sigh and the squeaking of his mattress. "You know that I like you a lot," Campbell began gently. "But, I don't think that we should get back together."

"You don't want to be with me?" she asked. Michael knew that heartbroken tone too well, only it was usually caused by him.

"Are you kidding? I would love to have a family with you."

"Then what's wrong?"

There was a pause. Michael leaned in just enough to see them seated on the bed through the window.

"I don't think that you want the same thing that I do for the same reasons," he finally answered.

"What do mean?"

"If it wasn't for the baby, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. You'd still be running around Miami with Mike helping people. I would have been just another ex-boyfriend you never saw again. But that's not how it went. One thing changed it all and yet I don't think that it changed enough. You're still you, I'm still me, and the problems we had before haven't gone away. A baby doesn't make it all okay. I still want to be a father if it's mine, and I'll help in any way I can. We just can't be together."

"Campbell," she started to argue. He shook his head gravely.

"I thought that maybe something had happened and you wouldn't be in love with him anymore. It hasn't, and I don't think that it ever will. He's the love of your life. Yeah, maybe your relationship with him isn't simple, but it's a relationship. It's a relationship that you and I can never have."

She bowed her head. "I don't know what to say."

"It's fine. I thought that it would turn out like this."

"It doesn't have to."

"You have a history, Fiona. He knows you more than I could ever know you. I see the way you look at him. He looks at you the same way. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that you want to be with me because you're in love with me—not Mike—maybe we can be together."

She lowered her eyes to the small bulge of her belly and took a slow breath. Words weren't necessary. Her pause was answer enough. He inclined his head in acceptance and tenderly kissed her on the top of the head.

"You could do a lot worse than Mike."

She gave him the ghost of a smile while he finished gathering his things. He walked to the door and turned back—Michael promptly leapt back up the steps—and smiled at Fi. "I'll call you soon."

"Don't you need me to drive you?" she frowned.

"I'll take a cab. See you soon."

He left and she got up to retrieve a pickle from the jar. Michael came down the stairs and back into the loft. He motioned to the door. "Did Campbell just leave?"

"Don't give me that, Michael. You were listening in."

She bit into the pickle like a piece of celery from a Bloody Mary while he went around cleaning up just to avoid the awkward conversation looming. He collected all of the homemade spy gadgets into a box—going MacGyver was more fun than going crazy—and set the box across from Fi at the workbench. Their eyes locked and she set the pickle aside.

"I'm sorry, Fi."

"There's nothing like being dumped by the same person twice. At least with us we take turns breaking up with each other."

He smirked and picked through the various devices in the box, waiting for her to advance their chat. He knew her well enough to know that she was wondering the same thing he was.

"Was he right about us, Michael?"

"I don't know. I can't speak for you. I only know that no one can make me happier than you can. No one else knows me like you do and no one else will."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

"Then why do I question who you are every time we're in the same room? I never know what you're thinking or feeling. I can't understand the choices you make or the things that you want. I still look at you and wonder if I love Michael Westen or Michael McBride."

"They're the same person."

"No they aren't. Michael Westen is a spy. He's self-absorbed and obsessed with getting his job back. The Michael I knew is the same one that cares about his clients and loves eating yogurt. He's gone as soon as the job ends and the yogurt's finished. I can trust both of them with my life, but neither of them with my heart. You go between the two faster than I can keep up with."

He swallowed thickly and folded his arms across his chest. "Being a spy was a way to help my country and save American lives. It protected the people I love from the enemies coming after me. It's the only thing I've ever been good at. I was trained to avoid trusting anyone, to avoid thinking of people as more than an asset. I was good at it until I met you. You aren't supposed to miss an asset. You aren't supposed to care about them. And you definitely aren't supposed to fall in love with any of them. You might hate my job, but for a long time it was right for me. It let me meet you."

"And leave me again."

"I had to or you might have gotten killed. I'd rather have you hate me than be reason you died. Or died at all. I never got over you."

"We both know that your job comes first, then your family, and then me. I can't come last in your life whether you're over me or not."

"You are my family. I trust you more than I've ever trusted them, and you know parts of me they'll never know."

"I don't want you to give up on your burn notice just because I'm pregnant! That isn't how I wanted us to be together."

"The only reason I would be with anyone is because I want to. I've always wanted you, Fi."

"You'd leave your job for me?"

"I can find a way to stay here and do the work I want to."

"You're going to give up on it, just like that? After all the time I've spent trying to get you to stay?"

"Yeah. Just like that."

"Look at me and say that you want this and it isn't because you think you have to."

He locked his gaze with hers. "I want this more than I want my job back."

She read him like an open book. A smile spread across her face and leaned on her elbows. "You were worried I was going to get back together Campbell. You thought that you were going to lose me."

He thought about disputing it, but she knew him too well. "Fine. I did."

"That's why you're fighting so hard to be with me. You're jealous."

"I am not."

"Please. You and Campbell were always vying for my attention."

"No, we weren't."

"How many weeks did you sleep upright in your green chair just to be closer to me than he was?"

"I didn't count, and I was only trying to be a good host."

She snickered. "You are such a bad liar."

"I'm not lying!"

"And I'm not pregnant."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14-** **Fiona's a yogurt person**

Week twenty finally arrived. Campbell and Michael gave their DNA and joined Fiona in the exam room. It wasn't only time for the test. It was also time for the first ultra sound.

"Your baby is right there," the doctor informed her warmly. "Do you want to know the sex or are you waiting?"

"If I didn't know sex, would I be here?" she joked.

"We would like to know the sex of the baby," Michael answered with a chiding glance in Fi's direction. Campbell nodded in agreement with him and Fiona only smirked mischievously.

"Okay, well, congratulations. You're going to have a little boy."

Campbell smiled excitedly, but a girl would have been fine with him. Relief washed over Michael and Fiona. The thought of a girly girl kept them both up at night. Granted, she would have probably taken after Fiona with a love for shoes and silver-slides on handguns, but it was a given with a boy. Michael made a mental note to buy furniture that wasn't flammable…

"Now we're going to do the test. We have to take a needle and extract some cells. It'll be uncomfortable for a moment or two. Then it'll subside and you'll feel fine. There's a small risk to the baby. I don't see any possible problems."

"Just do the test," Fiona responded calmly.

"I have to ask your…" the doctor paused, attempting to find the proper title, and added, "…friends…to leave."

They nodded and each kissed her forehead on the way out.

There they were again in the waiting room surrounded by curious women who were trying to figure out their reasons for being there. Awkward silence fell between them until Campbell had to say something.

"What exactly do you and Fiona do? I know that you help people, but other than that you're a soil scientist?"

"Yeah."

"Really? I never see you with any soil samples or in a lab…"

"It's complicated."

"Oh. You're more like a spy to me than a soil geek, with all the things you know how to do…"

"I read a lot."

"What books did you read to learn how to do all of the things you can do? I'd like to find out how make some of the gizmos you can."

"Google mostly."

"You can find that on the internet?"

"You can find anything on the internet."

"Wow. Cool. You know, Mike, there are a few questions I've been dying to ask you."

He looked towards the door, hoping that Fiona would appear and they could leave before he had to answer. She didn't, so he turned to Campbell with his trademark forced grin. "What is it?"

"Well, I was wondering where you got those sunglasses."

"From a……friend. He didn't need them anymore."

"Oh…" Campbell trailed off, pondering exactly what he meant by that.

"Is that all?" he inquired irately.

"Actually, I've always wondered why you like yogurt so much."

"I don't really know."

"I mean, I like it, but I don't love it. I'm more of a pudding person."

"Pudding, really?"

"Yeah."

"Hm."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just not a fan of pudding."

"Some people say they're the same thing, but they're different."

"They are."

"They have their similarities, but I think that the differences are more prominent."

"Yeah."

"Fiona's a yogurt person. Not that she doesn't like pudding. She likes it, but she'll never love it like she loves yogurt. She'll always prefer it over pudding, no matter what flavors there are."

Michael glanced at him curiously. "Are we still talking about yogurt?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He decided to stop the conversation right there. The last thing he wanted was advice about Fiona from her ex-paramedic-boyfriend. What could he possibly know? They weren't even together for more than a month before they ended it.

"Whether you want to admit it or not, Fiona's your girlfriend."

"Can we not do this right now?"

"This might be the last time we see each other."

Thank. The. Lord.

"I know that."

"I want Fiona to be happy. You make her happy, Mike. She seems to make you happy too."

"Yeah, I'm not exactly comfortable discussing this with you. It's nothing personal."

"No, I understand. It's a little weird, especially since we've both been with her."

The thought of Fi and Campbell together—particularly in _that _way—could still make his blood run cold. It wasn't because he was jealous or possessive. No, it was because he was…protective? Yeah, that's it. _Protective_…

"I only wanted to talk to you about this because I think that if you got with Fiona—even if the baby is mine—your lives and the life of the baby would be a lot happier. You'd make a pretty cool stepfather," Campbell smiled and he reluctantly smiled back.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Luckily, that was the end of their heart to heart. Fiona emerged awhile later. She looked okay, albeit a little irritated. "That took longer than I expected."

"How'd it go?" Michael managed to ask before Campbell could.

"Fine. Everything's fine. The results will take awhile. Hopefully, not as long as that damn test. We're going to be late for dinner at your mom's house," she gave Campbell a hug and added, "I'll call you soon. Come on Michael. You don't want your mom to get testy."

He nodded to the other perspective father and trailed behind her heels. "Dinner at Mom's? When did this happen?"

"I swear I mentioned it this morning on the phone. Huh. I must've forgotten. We're having dinner at your mother's house. Sam's going for take out. Madeline's cooking makes me sick when I'm not pregnant. Imagine how sick it makes me now."

Dogs in a twenty-five mile radius could have gone deaf because of Madeline's squeal after she found out that it was a boy. She ran to Michael's old room and returned with two boxes of his old toys for their son, even though they didn't know for sure if he was Michael's yet.

"It isn't a lot, but it's more than you had. The only things in his health hazard of a loft are germs and tools. It's hardly a safe environment to raise a child. Tell me you're going to move into her condo."

"Mom," he sighed tiredly. "We don't know if he's my son or not. You're getting ahead of yourself."

"He is your son, Michael. I'd bet my life on it. Have you called Nate yet? He should know that he's going to be an uncle soon."

"I'm not going to call Nate until we know for sure."

"I haven't even called my family yet, Madeline. When we know, they'll be called. I promise," Fi assured her.

Sam took a swig of his beer to keep the laughter inside. He tried to tell Fi on the phone that dinner with Maddie wasn't a good idea, but she insisted.

"Have you talked about names?" Madeline continued excitedly. "I have plenty of ideas! I think that I have the baby name book around here somewhere…" she got up from the table and didn't come back until she'd found the dusty, outdated, baby name book.

The rest of dinner consisted of the recitation of every boy name from _A_ to _Q_. Michael jumped at the chance to leave when Fiona mentioned that she was feeling tired.

"Thanks for stopping by! I'm sure that I have more things around here from when you and Nate were little. I kept most of it. I'll have Sam go through the closets tomorrow!"

He choked on his beer. "Go through the closets? I thought that I was supposed to be fixing your house not—"

"As long as you're living here, I might as well put you to work. Or would you rather me kick you out?" she snapped as pleasantly as possible.

A scowl crossed his face. "Fine, Maddie. I'll go through the closets. Do you want me to reorganize the garage or reline the cabinets while I'm at it?"

"Now that you mention it…"

"Mom," Michael scolded on Sam's behalf.

"You're never around to help, Michael. I'm too old to be doing that sort of thing. My doctor said so."

"Thank you for dinner," Fi interjected, hoping to bring a halt to the squabbling. It did the trick.

"You're very welcome, Fiona. You can come over or call anytime. I'm sure that little boy of yours is going to be just a beautiful as you. I can't wait to meet him."

The two women embraced briefly before Madeline practically tackled Michael into a hug. "And he's going to be just as handsome as his father. You better bring him around here. I want to know my grandson."

He opened his mouth to remind her for the millionth time that he mightn't be the father, but he quickly bit his words back. Why not let her dream? Maybe she was right. He'd worry about the maybe not later.

They left the house and started the walk to the car. She wrapped her arms around his and leaned her temple on his shoulder. "That was interesting."

"All dinners with my mother are."

"You know, there was one name she read aloud that I liked."

He looked at her curiously. "Really? Which one?"

"Smith."

It took him a moment, and then a grin spread across his face. "Smith Westen. Cute, but I'm not going to name my son after a weapon brand."

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to name my son after a gun. I'm sorry. I'm just not going to do it."

"It's either that or an Irish name."

"Irish."

"But Smith is so perfect!"

"You want to name our kid after weapons that killpeople!"

"If you hate the name that much, suggest a better one."

"I haven't thought about it."

"Start thinking about it, because if you can't think of anything else, I'm naming him Smith whether you like it or not."

He sighed knowing that Fiona Glenanne didn't make idle threats.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15-** **I'm not going to cry**

The door screeched and then shut with a bang as Fiona walked into the loft. He tried to avoid getting his hopes up anytime she came over. The results were still pending. As a spy—ex-spy—he'd been trained to be patient. Like always, Fi had a way of erasing all of that programming from his brain. "Hi Fi."

She wandered to his side at the workbench and leaned back on her elbows with more difficulty than there used to be. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning out my tackle box. What brings you here?"

"I have to have a reason now?"

"I didn't mean it like that. I was just wondering if something had happened."

She accepted the response with a thoughtful nod, and then gently reached out and took hold of his hand. He watched her curiously as she placed his hand on her stomach. He felt a hard kick underneath his palm. "Was that the baby?"

"It was. He's been kicking all day. It was adorable at first, but now I'm getting a little annoyed."

He smirked at how Fi that response was. "I can see why. He's got good legs."

"He'll be a great fighter…just like his father…" she spoke scarcely above a whisper and then locked her eyes with his.

"You mean that he's…?"

"Yes. You're going to be a father."

His eyes fell to her stomach and for the first time since it all started, his mind was blank. Happy, but blank. A smile crossed his face and he put his hands on her face, gently leaning his forehead against hers. She held onto his wrists and stood on her tiptoes to meet his kiss.

"I'm going to be a father…" he repeated disbelievingly.

She smiled wider than he'd seen her in a long time. "You are."

"Do the others know?"

"I told Campbell and Sam already. I even called home. I got yelled at for waiting so long. They also weren't happy about the 'McBride in the making,' as Sean put it."

"McBride? You didn't tell them?"

"Of course not! I'd be disowned if they knew the newest member of the Glenanne family was half American. They didn't like you too much to begin with. They said that we'll have to visit come Christmas. I hope you can still do an Irish accent…"

"Great. Christmas with your family and mine."

"Speaking of your family, I haven't told your mother yet. I thought that you would want to."

He wrapped his arms around her with a muttered, "Thank you, Fi."

"Anytime."

He bent his head and they kissed again. All he could think was that they were going to be parents. The little boy wasn't going to be her boy. He was going to be their boy. Their destructive, trigger-happy boy.

_**Some months later…**_

"You're doing great," the doctor assure her over her scream.

Michael was seated behind her on the bed, holding her close to his chest to keep her from trying to punch anyone…again. He gritted through the claw marks in his forearms where her fingernails had clamped into his skin. If her legs hadn't been restrained, she would have kicked the nearest person to them. The last thing they needed was a doctor with a concussion.

She had gone into labor at the Carlito—of all places—with Sam. Michael was busy meeting with a client when he got the call. She greeted him with a slap when he finally arrived and the male nurse practically begged him to do something about her before she gave him another black eye.

"Last one. I promise. Give me a big push," the doctor calmly said, although inside she feared for her safety and that of the staff.

One more push, and then a shrill cry filled the air. Michael was more than relieved when the doctor asked him if he wanted to cut the cord. He would have done anything to get away from Fiona's grip. She was too close to piercing an artery for comfort. The nurse wrapped the baby in a blue blanket and handed him to Michael. He took him carefully, as if he were handling a potent explosive, and smiled down at his son. He had Fi's eyes and just a little bit of black hair atop his tiny head. He gingerly passed him to his mother and sat back down on the bed. She leaned against his shoulder, grinning teary-eyed at their little boy.

"He's got your smile, Michael."

"And your eyes."

"Hi there…it's your mother…" she whispered softly.

"Do you have a name picked out?" the nurse asked, hating to interrupt.

"We have the first name, but we're still working on the middle…" Michael responded.

She groaned. "Michael…"

"Come on, Fi. We have to."

"I don't want to name him after _him_."

"You wanted to name him after a brand of weaponry. I think this is a better tribute."

"Can't we name him after someone else?"

"He's done a lot of us."

"Fine, fine. Go ahead. Name our son after _him_. If he turns out like his namesake, I'm blaming you."

A few minutes later, Michael walked out into the waiting room where their immediate family waited excitedly. Madeline stood up first, shortly followed by Sam and then Nate.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"I'm a father."

She squealed loud enough to alert mammals in Russia of her new status. "I'm a grandma!"

"That makes me an uncle. I'll babysit whenever you need me to, bro. Well, when I'm in town…" Nate shrugged. "I can't wait to teach him how to play cards!"

"I'm not leaving you unattended with my son and you are not teaching him how to play poker or taking him to the track!"

"Aw c'mon, Mike! I'd be a good uncle!"

"If I need a babysitter, I have Mom or Sam around to watch him. But if they both can't, and there aren't any babysitters left in the state of Florida or along the East Coast, I might call you."

"So what's his name, Mikey?" Sam asked, purposely cutting of the younger Westen brother before he said anything.

"Colin Samuel Westen."

A grin spread onto his face and he looked like he was about to cry. "Oh Mikey…you named him after me?"

"I had to, Sam. It didn't seem right if we didn't."

Sam gave him a big hug and kept repeating, "I'm not going to cry…_I'm not going to cry_…"

"We can we meet him?" Madeline asked eagerly.

"Soon. I better get back before they take him anywhere."

"What happened to your arms?" Sam noticed as he referenced the bandages.

"Fi."

"Ah. I see."

He nodded and went back to the room where Fiona was still transfixed on their son. He sat beside them silently and it stayed that way for a moment.

"Michael."

"Yeah Fi?"

"What are you looking forward to the most?"

"All of it."

"I can't wait to teach him the things my parents taught me."

He put his arm around her and they lied back on the uncomfortable bed. "Like what?"

"How to clean and put together a gun, how to make C4, how to shoot a rifle, tactical support, checking for exits, Irish folktales…some of that my brothers taught me…some you taught me…"

"We probably shouldn't teach him all of that until he's at least ten."

"Why not? I was shooting and cleaning guns by the time I was eight."

"That was Ireland. This is Miami. The cops are already on me. The last thing we need is for them to stumble onto our semi-automatic wielding kindergartener."

"Then we'll make sure they don't stumble."

"I don't see why he needs to know how to shoot a gun before he hits double digits."

"He's our son."

"Good point. Okay, we'll wait until he's at least talking in complete sentences."

"That sounds fair."

He kissed her temple and set his hand lightly on the soft blue blanket with a smile. She set her head on his shoulder. "Sorry about your arms."

"You've done worse."

She smirked and didn't disagree. He sighed contentedly for the first time since he was burned. The job didn't matter anymore. It stopped mattering the second he realized that he could have a family. With Fi. There was no one else he'd want one with.

**The end**


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